


Mugs

by klaustattoos



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 22:22:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17353715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klaustattoos/pseuds/klaustattoos
Summary: «I haven’t had the pleasure to meet you yet. Obviously I know who you are – who doesn’t? But you don’t know me. And, I can assure you, you should fix this.»





	Mugs

**Author's Note:**

> English isn't my first language but ehy, i tried ! Publishing a fanfiction make me feel like a thirteen years old again, i can't even remember the last time i write and published a fanfic but Monchevy stole my heart and i had to.  
> Hope you enjoy this silly fluffy one-shot.  
> c

To him, having continuous media attention on himself was basic routine.  
Philippe didn’t even mind frequently being the center of the gossip, whether it was because of Louis’s position or because of his persona, still exquisitely scandalous to the media.  
He was used to it, that was his reality, a reality flavored with inconvenience sometimes, boredom even; but, for those getting closer to Philippe, for those who shyly reached to him and took a peek at that shining world made out of flashes and luxuries, the same reality would appear as charming at first, intriguing, then intimidating and frightful.  
Philippe was alone.  
He was alone, he had started to feel lonely more and more every day, for no one wanted to be under the spotlight for more than few hours, no one wanted and needed that kind of stress in their life. A kiss stolen in front of a camera was acceptable once, twice, not every day – just enough to gain some Instagram views and followers.  
Philippe could brag about being one of the youngest and richest businessmen out there, he could brag about his breathtaking attic in downtown Paris, but those were almost superfluous details in his eyes.  
Not having a real emotional bond had lost its flavour and Philippe, though if it was hard for him to admit even to himself, wanted and craved someone stable in his life: someone to get shitfaced with at home drinking way too expensive wine in some mugs, someone to wake up next to not just after a party, but any other day of the week, when his head wasn’t exploding due to a painful hangover.  
Was any of that going to happen if his life stayed the same?  
No, it probably wasn’t. Philippe was reaching that conclusion, surrendering to that forced bachelor life sitting in a comfy leather armchair, wearing an expensive Italian suit, his legs elegantly crossed; he was uninterestedly looking at his champagne bubbles climb back up from the bottom of his flute, creating irregular and zigzagged paths.  
He heard Louis dive into a useless digression he didn’t even know what about from the other room: ah, that voice of his, so confident and booming. How Philippe had hated it, through all those years. Now, it was more similar to a light background noise for him.  
«I haven’t seen such a limp party in a while.»  
Raising his gaze from his flute to the voice’s source, Philippe then fixed his bright eyes upon a blond man’s face – perfect posture and perfect suit, a glass of red wine elegantly held by fingers full of rings.  
The man didn’t return his glance right away, allowing himself a few more seconds to judge and despise the guests, almost inaudibly, instead.  
«My grandmother is more energetic than them. And she is dead.»  
And with that irreverent sentence the man’s eyes finally met Philippe’s face and his lips curled in a confident and cunning smile.  
Philippe followed him with his eyes while the man sat next to him, leaning over the arm of his armchair, towards him.  
«I haven’t had the pleasure to meet you yet. Obviously I know who you are – who doesn’t? But you don’t know me. And, I can assure you, you should fix this.»  
His brazen smile became mischievous – an eye roll – his glass moved from his right hand to the left; the right corner of Philippe's lips bent into a hint of a smile, relieved he’d finally found an interesting distraction.  
«I guess you’re about to introduce yourself, then.»  
Despite the curiosity blossoming inside his chest, Philippe didn’t show any emotion – he rarely did.  
His words, which Philippe didn’t find strange or funny at all, seemed to amuse the man, who seemed to ponder for a few seconds, as his right hand gently closed into a fist, but then he offered his hand to Philippe, though not for a classical handshake; palm facing down and fingers softly distended, the stranger offered his right hand for a literal hand-kissing.  
«Many know me as Chevalier. For you, Chev.»  
Philippe raised his eyebrows, having a hard time believing that someone, in 2018, was really acting in such a theatrical and– bizzarre way. But he liked it, deep down, it brought up a tingling that made him impatient to immerse himself in that thing – whatever that thing was –.  
Philippe indulged him.  
Philippe indulged the blonde man because he was bored, because of his manners, Philippe indulged him because he was incredibly handsome – and handsome men had always been his weakness.  
He took Chevalier’s hand, relishing the softness of his skin, and drew his face close to it, bowing a little, until his lips brushed against the man’s knuckles. Then Philippe looked at him from underneath his dark lashes, the shade of a complicit smile on his lips.  
  
They ended up stealing two bottles of wine from the bar’s counter, sneaking off before getting caught and hid on the hotel that hosted the party’s terrace like two teenagers. Away from prying eyes they uncorked the first bottle, toasting to the encounter that made both of them stop desiring to be somewhere else.  
«There is no need to thank me, by the way. I totally know I’m the highlight of your evening.»  
Hiding his face behind his glass before drinking another sip of wine, Chevalier let that sentence to slip away from his lips, winking.  
Philippe rolled his eyes at that confidence bordering narcissism, but he smiled, because he couldn’t actually blame Chevalier: the blonde young man was lovely company, he was keen, he was funny, mischievous, exquisitely ambiguous in his provocations. He was shameless, he acted and talked without restraints but refinement and grace were equal part of his manners and he was beautiful, so terribly beautiful.  
Philippe couldn’t and didn’t want to move his eyes from his face, he wanted to follow every gesture and movement of his with his gaze but, when the thought of having stared for too long popped up in his mind, he found himself looking away, feeling embarrassment overflowing him and hoping that a red veil of embarrassment wasn’t about to cover his cheeks. He hid behind his glass, then, drinking wine without even tasting its flavor.  
«I’m pretty sure I’m your highlight too. You came to me.»  
And the more wine he drank, the more he felt free to talk, the more the will to flirt with Chevalier grew, as did the desire to brush against him, to touch him, to taste those irreverent lips, to run his fingers through those golden locks.  
«I never said the contrary.»  
A few moments of silence, Philippe looking at him in the eyes, his heart beating so fast it felt like it’d decided to escape from his ribcage.  
They were sitting on the ground, careless about wearing suits far too expensive to ever touch the floor, their backs against the the wall, wine bottles at their feet, they were too close and intimate to have met just an hour earlier.  
They were sitting on the ground, and it took Philippe so little to kiss him, his left hand placed on the ground, to support himself, the other one tight around his glass of wine.  
  
«Your brother should really ask for some advice and opinions about the parties he throws. Mine, to be accurate. It would make them simply unforgettable.»  
He announced himself into the living room with that sentence, a disappointed look painted on his face as he looked at his phone and at the email invite just he’d received for Louis’s new party. He locked his phone, pushing it inside his pocket, and sat down on the couch next to Philippe, who was focused on his laptop.  
An annoyed frown appeared on his face as soon as he understood that Philippe had not listened to him, and then, as a cat claiming attentions, he leaned over to put his chin on Philippe’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around his lover’s waist.  
«Mignonette, I hate when you work too much. It distracts you from me.»  
At last, he finally received some kind of reaction from Philippe, who, his eyes still fixed onto the display, let out a snort and smiled, while he replied:  
«Believe it or not, this attic isn’t paid for by the attentions I give you.»  
Chevalier rolled his eyes, while he traced Philippe’s jawline’s profile with a finger, starting from his chin arriving to his ear, where he ended up playing with a brunet lock, and he said:  
«Let’s drink. You’ll finish whatever you’re doing tomorrow.»  
«It’s Wednesday night, Chev. I can’t get drunk or I will never be able to get up early tomorrow morning.»  
«Don’t be so dramatic, I’m not asking you to get wasted! Just to share a few glasses of wine and some cuddles with me.»  
Philippe looked at him out of the corner of his eye and Chevalier smiled, knowing that he’d already convinced him, even if Philippe was insisting on keeping on working.  
He left his spot on the couch and resolutely went to the kitchen without looking behind his back.  
He didn’t need to turn around to know it, but he felt Philippe’s gaze following him.  
He returned a few minutes later, an opened bottle in one hand, two mugs in the other.  
He smiled as he returned to Philippe on the couch, he smiled as he knew Philippe wouldn’t say no to him.  
Chevalier didn’t say anything while he poured the drink into the mugs, placing the bottle on the glass table in front of them when he was done.  
Philippe threw him a scolding look while closing his laptop and moving it away from his legs, accepting the mug his boyfriend was offering him, and Chevalier smiled:  
«Don’t look at me that way, Mignonette. I know perfectly well that you want this. Am I mistaken, or isn’t it what a drunk you told me he wanted during our second date?»  
A hastily whispered “ _Shut up_ ” and a white wine flavored kiss to shush him. Chevalier smiled against Philippe’s lips, who leaned over not to have to answer that question.  
Both of them knew he was right, even if Philippe was reluctant to admit it out loud.  
There it was, what he had long longed for: with mugs meant to contain everything but wine, not wearing a suit and not surrounded by the deafening noise of too many people talking at the same time, there it was, that someone to wake up next to every day and not just after a sleepless night after a party.  
There he was, on his couch, his back against one of the couch arms and his legs stretched into Philippe’s lap. The fact that parties and appearing next to him were one of things Chevalier loved the most was just an exquisite plus that Philippe accepted with pleasure.


End file.
